


hieros gamos

by procellous



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bloodplay, Bondage, Cunnilingus, Dom Sansa Stark, Dom/sub, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Goddess Sansa Stark, Hierogamy, Human Sacrifice, Praise Kink, Ritual Sex, Vaginal Sex, as is standard with Theon tbqh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21683182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procellous/pseuds/procellous
Summary: To be eaten and to be married to the god might not be so different.
Relationships: Ramsay Snow/Being Fucking Dead, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 83





	hieros gamos

**Author's Note:**

> The world needs more fics where Sansa is a literal goddess, I'm just filling a void.

The full moon hung heavily above the wood, casting strange shadows across the heavy blanket of softly-falling snow. The blood-red leaves of the weirwood tree whispered in the wind, a near silent susurrus. A careful listener might make out traces of words. 

Huge, rough-hewn stones jutted from the snow like broken bones or the teeth of a massive jaw, circling the tree. Snow collected in the old, deep carvings. 

Theon was dragged through them, snapping and snarling like the wolves he was about to be fed to. There was a low, flat stone in front of the weirwood’s grimacing face, black and shiny and clear of snow, with channels and pits carved into it. 

To catch the blood, he realized. There were shallow scratches in the stone around the corners and sides. Some were the size of human hands; others the size of massive paws. This was really happening. He was going to die. 

Theon had only ever heard rumors of the Northern customs, bloody rituals for their bloodier gods, men and women and children slaughtered and their bodies left in the snow for wolves and ravens to pick over. 

His wrists were bound together so tightly that he could barely feel his hands, forced to kneel in the snow before the altar. Was there any way he could overpower the guards and escape? They weren’t wearing armor, but they did have swords, and even if he could get his bindings off, he was naked and alone in strange woods in the middle of a harsh winter. 

He didn’t like his chances. 

He glared at his captors; maybe the sheer force of his hatred would burn a hole in their heads. 

Something in the shadows beyond the torchlit circle shifted. Moonlight glinted off of one golden eye. 

He was hauled back on his numb feet—why bother with forcing him to kneel, really?—and shoved onto the altar. 

“I won’t be here to watch you die,” Ramsay said with mock sympathy, “but I’ll be close enough to hear your screams when the Wolf Queen takes you.”

“Fuck off and die,” Theon suggested, gritting his teeth as the ropes were tightened around his wrists and ankles. He was naked and tied spread-eagle on a stone slab beneath a fucking heart tree, about to get eaten by wolves in sacrifice to hungry gods. If this day could get any worse, he’d like to see it. 

“I wish I could see the last little bits of light leaving your eyes,” Ramsay continued, as though he hadn’t spoken. “I wonder if divine wolves eat as quickly as my dogs? So many questions, and I’ll never know the answer. After all, who are mortal men to witness the work of the gods? Though I suppose you’ll know.”

“I hope you trip and snap your neck.”

“Scream loud for me.” He stroked Theon’s cheek in a parody of gentleness, and Theon sunk his teeth into his fingers. “You little shit!”

Theon grinned with bloodied teeth, even as one of the guards struck him across the face. 

And then they left, and Theon was alone. 

Theon watched wispy bits of cloud pass in front of the full moon. The wind blew a trail of snow through the branches. He shivered as it passed over his naked skin; maybe he wouldn’t get eaten by wolves, maybe he’d just freeze to death. 

Something crunched through the snow. 

Something watched from the shadows. 

Something lurked beyond the stones. 

A wolf, large as a horse, stepped through the stones. Flowers sprouted, bloomed, and died back around its paws. A wreath hung over one ear. Blood was soaked into its fur, staining its muzzle and chest with red. Theon watched as it drew closer, coming closer to the altar, the moonlight sparkling though the ice crystals caught in its thick fur. 

It pounced, leaping to the altar, but as it landed the wolf was gone, a woman in its place. She wore no clothes, just a wolf-skin draped over one shoulder and a crown of holly and mistle on her red hair, but the cold didn’t seem to bother her. 

There were white marks on her skin—sinuous, curving lines on her neck and shoulders, curling around her breasts, down her waist and hips to her thighs. Blood was soaked into her skin, from her mouth to her stomach, a large stain of dark red. Somehow he knew where the blood had come from—could almost see it—the wolf pack leaping at the guards, tearing them apart. She had torn Ramsay’s throat out herself; it was his blood that she was covered in. 

Was this the Wolf Queen?

She knelt over Theon, her knees on either side of his hips and her hand on his chest. The cold vanished; he could almost smell spring in the curtain of her red hair, mixed with the heavy scent of wolf. He should have been scared; some part of him was, distant and animal, knowing only that the woman on top of him was powerful and no more human than he was a fish. 

She studied him for a long moment, her hand leaving red marks and prints on his skin. 

Finally, she spoke: “What is your name?”

“Theon,” he said. “Theon Greyjoy.”

She seemed—for a moment, she almost seemed startled. “Theon Greyjoy,” she echoed, her fingertip trailing down the curve of his nose, leaving a long streak of blood behind. “A good, strong name. Did you come here willingly, Theon Greyjoy?”

“No.”

“Do you want to leave?” Her thumbs brushed, feather-light, in two small crescents on his cheeks. 

He swallowed. He should say yes, should leave now, should find his way back to his crew, but…

“No,” he said, breathless.

She smiled, a hint of fang peeking out from her red, red lips. 

“Then I accept your sacrifice,” she whispered, her face inches from Theon’s. Her lips were soft and sweet but insistent as she kissed him. She nipped at his lower lip, a gentle press of her sharp teeth, and slid her tongue along the seam of his mouth.

He opened for her and her devouring kiss. Her fingers threaded through his hair, tugging his head back and exposing his throat. She bit bruises into bloom along the line of his neck, sweet pain and sharp pleasure mingling under his skin. 

Strange old memories stirred at her kiss, half-forgotten, half-dreamed—a peaceful grove, leaves whispering in the wind; the rise and fall of the tides under the circling moon; fingers brushing his as they moved in the steps of an ancient dance, the sand flying up under their bare feet to become stars; a spear staining the leaf litter below with blood; a whisper in his ear. 

She shifted forward, dragging her body along his until her thighs braced beside his ears. She was gorgeous, every dip and curve and swell of her body bathed in moonlight. 

“Please,” he said, wishing his hands were free—he would guide her to his mouth, and drink her down like fine wine. 

She smirked down at him, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan. “Please what?”

“Please, my lady,” he said, “let me taste you.” 

The Wolf Queen sank down, near but not quite to his mouth; he could just flick the tip of his tongue against her soft, wet folds. 

He whined as she pulled away again. 

“A taste for my sweet boy,” she said, her smile teasing, “as requested.”

“Please, I need—I need more,” he begged. “Please, my lady, may I?”

She laughed and carded a hand through his hair as she sank down against his mouth. 

He lapped at her, eager and hungry, like he was dying of thirst and she was the only sweet water for miles. The smell of her was heady—something like the earth after rain, something like the rising tide, something like the strongest honey-wine. He could taste blood, too, metallic and sharp, from his own mouth and from the blood-splatter dripping down her skin. 

“Sweet boy,” she purred, “so good for me. Go on, take your fill.”

Theon needed no further encouragement to press his tongue in a broad stroke against her clit before sucking at it greedily. The Wolf Queen moaned encouragement above him, her hips moving against his face, her hands in her hair. The sound of her voice faltering in its sweet litany of praise might be the best sound he had ever heard. 

Time passed in a haze; his jaw ached, his mouth and chin soaked in her wetness and the blood sliding down her skin. How long had he spent under her, working at her with the single-minded devotion of a priest at prayer? Months or minutes, he couldn’t tell; nothing seemed to exist outside of the circle of stones, the press of her thighs and the heady sweetness between them. 

“You’re doing so well, darling,” she said, breathless. “So good, and you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he gasped, pressing blood-stained kisses to the soft skin of her inner thigh between each word. “Yes, yes, I’m yours.”

She pulled back, swiping her fingers through the mingled blood and slick on his face, pushing it up into his mouth. He sucked on her fingers eagerly, greedily, swallowing it all down, cleaning them with his tongue. 

“ _Very_ good. Will your cock be as sweet for me as your mouth is, lovely boy?”

Theon nodded desperately, not fully trusting his voice. 

She reached behind her, long fingers wrapping around his hard cock. She ran her hand up and down the shaft, stroking it, teasing it with her fingertips and the slightest press of her nails, until it was achingly hard, harder than he had ever been before in his life. 

“Look at you, so pretty for me.” She kissed his forehead, a surprisingly chaste gesture when his face was covered in her pleasure, and sank back in one smooth motion, taking him to the hilt. Theon nearly screamed from the pleasure of it, from the sudden wet, tight heat around him. 

She laughed, a sweet sound that sent ripples and sparks up his spine, and pulled off partway, sliding up and down his shaft. Her hands pinned his hips to the stone, holding him in place as she rolled and rocked and rode him mercilessly. The pace she set would have been punishing for any human to keep up, but the Wolf Queen was no human woman; all Theon could do was lie back, dazed, as the pleasure built between them, helplessly moaning under her hands. She pinched at his nipples, rolling and twisting them; pressed her fingertips to his lips for him to suck on, her free hand tugging at his hair; and all the while she was pounding him into the stone altar. It was at once too much and not enough—he wasn’t sure whether to beg for mercy or for more. 

“Sweet boy. You really are just perfect, aren’t you? _Theon_.” She said his name like a promise. “My darling. Spend for me, love, go ahead.”

He hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for her permission, but he had been. His peak swept through him like a wave cresting onto the shore, stronger than he’d ever felt before. 

The Wolf Queen sighed in release, the walls of her rea tightening their grip around his cock as though to squeeze every drop out. 

Exhaustion replaced the pleasure, filling him as his cock softened. He sagged back against the altar, chest heaving for breath. He felt as though he’d swum for miles without rest. 

The Wolf Queen gave him a fond smile, stroking his hair. “The limits of mortal stamina,” she said, amusement lacing her words. “You’ve done very well tonight, Theon. Rest. You will be safe here; I protect my own.” 

He felt the bonds release from his wrists and ankles, the cold air stinging the rubbed-raw skin. His shoulders were stiff from holding the position, but it was a distant ache. 

The Wolf Queen sat on the edge of the altar, watching him through half-lidded eyes, her hand still carding through his hair. 

“What’s your name?” The question slipped from his lips before he could stop it. 

She stiffened for a heartbeat, then softened. “Few know that the Old Gods of the Forest have names. Fewer still know what those names are.”

The Wolf Queen was silent for a long moment, looking up at the full moon still hanging heavily over the trees, the light of it playing with the night’s shadows on her face. She seemed impossibly sad and weary, as though she had known nothing but tragedy in all the long ages of her life. 

“Sansa,” she said at last. “My name is Sansa. Now rest, my love; I will be here when you wake.”

Theon let his eyes slip closed. He had heard that name before, he was certain of it, but he couldn’t fight the weight of fatigue pulling him under enough to make the connection. 

Her hand was warm on his cheek as he slipped into sleep, and he thought he heard her say something as the world faded away—but maybe it was a dream. 

“Oh, my beloved,” she said. “Is this how you return to me?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as [robbeonsa](robbeonsa.tumblr.com), come say hi


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